Oh god, it's cold outside. Colder than the dickens! If I had a moustache, it would be stiff like a broom. Come to think of it, why don't I have a moustache? Oh yeah. Hitler had a moustache. Now I remember.
You can tell when winter has arrived, my friends. Your body shivers, your nipples become erect for no reason, and one day you wake up and notice the thermometer has dropped to a chilly 61 degrees.
What. I live in California now.
You know you've become a local here when 60-degree weather makes you cold. The first winter I spent in California was only a partial one, so the mid-50s and low-60s of a typical southern yuletide seemed incredibly warm to me. But now that I'm used to this climate, my tolerance for cold has shrunk faster than my testes.
Yes, dear reader, the symptoms are unmistakable. I've been afflicted. Pacific Universal Shivering Syndrome in Yuletide (P.U.S.S.Y.) is a disease inflicted upon every cold-climate person who moves to a warmer area. It's inescapable. The human body is good at adapting to its surroundings, at times too good. As a result, rugged Minnesotans who move south morph into gigantic vaginas who can't stand temperatures below 70 degrees.
I was wrapped in a blanket last night, reader. It was 60 degrees outside, and I was wrapped in a fucking blanket!
To make matters worse, my apartment doesn't have heat. Is there anything worse than listening to some pussy who doesn't have heat in his apartment? "Wah wah! It's so cold! I'm all out of blankets and hot chocolate, and my mittens aren't fluffy enough!" I can't stand listening to myself anymore.
Is this what things have come to? Is this what's become of me? I'm now just a P.U.S.S.Y. for life? Will this change continue? Will I become the type of man who's not afraid to wear pink shirts, and who shops at Pier 1? I cannot let such a thing happen, dear reader! At least not the Pier 1 part. That place is fucking stupid. Wicker baskets everywhere and shit. Gimme a break.
I remember when I used to stop wearing a coat when the weather hit 45 degrees. I remember when my college roommates and I used to drink beer on our porch in the middle of January. I remember when I used to pee on things outside when the temperature was 10 or 20 degrees, a dangerous feat if you accidentally put your wang too close to a metal object.
I guess what I'm learning here is I need to drink more. After all, cold weather is part of the reason why people in the Midwest are such alcoholics. Not as much of a reason as the horrid depression that comes from living in a place like Wisconsin, but still, drinking seems to be the least expensive answer to my problems. Especially if Wild Turkey is on sale.
Hey, I may be a P.U.S.S.Y. now, but at least my instincts and problem-solving skills are every bit as Minnesotan as they've always been.
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